Nightfall
by Morggy
Summary: Stories about the nights Godric and Eric walked the world together. Chapters may relate to one another, or not. This is something a little different from what I'm used to, a little tentative. It speaks of my soft spot for True Blood's Godric, and maybe, if you're a fan too, you'll enjoy it. If you do, thank you so much for reading!
1. Remembrance

**A/N: **I'm stepping out of my comfort zone to write something a little vampy, and less shippy. I'll try not to descend into uncomfortable degrees with how much more vicious and mean these two probably were back then, without disrespecting the fact that they obviously _were_ as per Godric's words _frightening._

_Usual warnings about adult themes & violence apply._

**Everything belongs to HBO.**

_You will notice I will avoid the word "vampire" early on, as well as known terms like "glamouring". Etymology suggests the term Vampire started spreading in the 18th century – so Godric, Eric, and older vampires obviously predate its use. _

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**Remembrance** – 930AD

The smells of the forest assaulted his still untrained nose as he rushed past the trees at an unnatural speed. Each and every scent was pungent and new. The feel of the wind hitting against his cold skin, should have carried the violence and sting of a thousand lashes of a whip, but it felt like the soft brush of a passing breeze.

Eric loved being this new creature and blending in with the night.

He stopped abruptly in the turf, panting with his excitement as his eyes scoured his new surroundings. The forest was dark and damp and he looked down at his bare feet, wiggling his toes as blood seeped out of the many tiny wounds he'd inflicted upon himself during his journey. They barely tickled him – and he tittered slightly, amused.

He raised his eyes again to the forest, wondering where in the world they were now. At the speed of the dead, it became difficult to tell where he was anymore. Nor did he care to. It didn't matter, he decided with another low chuckle. Only _they_ mattered now.

The familiar sound of a creature speeding through the bushes and the scent of his maker called to him. He snapped his head to the North and his nostrils flared. He was close. He walked, rather than ran this time, enjoying the lull of the evening with its smells and tastes – yes, he could taste the air – it made him smile once again. Past the thicket he came onto a sliver of running water, a babbling brook that seemed to flow into a larger body of water somewhere ahead of him, if his senses were sharp. He followed the rivulet slowly, his eyes always searching for _Godric_.

He appeared, at the crest of the bank across the stream – it placed him several meters above his progeny and Eric had to look up, his smile widening as his maker's twinkling, pale blue eyes found his. They were both mostly bare – scraps of fabric around their hips – old, battered slacks. They'd been removed from any type of civilization for a while, and as his garments met ruin with bloodshed, he discarded them along the way. Their pale, cold chests glowed in the moonlight. Blood dried and stuck to the soles of his maker's feet as well.

"Son…" Godric smiled at him as he padded carefully on top of polished rocks and mossy ground. "Have you fed?"

"No, father…" Eric followed him closely, slowing down his large strides. "I have been running."

"Yes!" Godric chuckled knowingly, his fangs were exposed, but clean – he had also not fed. "My child does enjoy breaking at great speeds and uncovering uncharted land."

"Yes…" Eric agreed with a toothy grin. "But you haven't fed also."

"I like feeding with you…" Godric said casually, pausing at the other side of the bank. "Do you hear them, child?" he asked in a whisper as he squatted on the ground, facing down at him with a gleeful smirk.

Eric lifted his eyes above his maker's face, scouring the skies through the tops of the trees as he strained his all-hearing ears. It was still new to him, to be able to hear so far – at times it was even strenuous – when in populated villages, among the living. But here it was easier to separate the sounds – and in only a moment he could hear them. He could discern the wheels of several carriages, and the hooves of the horses that led them.

"There is a small village along the river – shepherds and farmers. We can be there before dawn and come back to die for the day." Godric continued speaking in whispers, his eyes glinting and his fanged mouth curling into an expectant grin. "I will let you pick this time – but be wise!"

"Yes, Godric…" Eric's answer was also a whisper, his eyes were still above the trees, as he tried to follow their progression with his ears.

Talk of feeding had greatly exacerbated his thirst – his fangs ran down and his eyes drooped. He pulled back to look at his maker as he stood gracefully. Godric smirked at his child, so eager to bleed and feed.

They didn't have to run much farther before the sounds and smells drew them to the village gates. Torches marked its location in the dark and they could also smell the meat being cooked in several of the stone-erected structures. Maker and progeny watched some of the activity before making any moves – with their enhanced sight, seeing in the dark was just as easy as seeing in the light. There was only one watch tower, at the very center of the village, by the river stream – there were two men standing watch, one of them, was nothing more than a child. Godric would take care of them – he would draw from their minds with his power to compel humans – something Eric was just beginning to learn. He sent his child off, reminding him to be swift and quiet.

Eric followed his nose - a quick lap around the village allowed him to identify how many inhabitants there were, how many men, how many women, how many children, and even the elderly. There were not many of those – there never were – death came early for the humans of that age. It had come for Eric also, but it'd come in the form of a beautiful boy child with promises of eternal companionship and life. He knew he was very fortunate.

He finally chose who to feed from. His preference for women had not changed in death. Feeding from them and mating with them gave him most pleasure. He had been a man with a voracious appetite for the female body while he was alive. But it seemed like being this new creature he was, his desire and his hunger for blood were one and the same.

His maker had explained to him, that it was in their nature to feed and fuck and kill with equal amounts of pleasure. However, he'd warned him early on, to never kill only because it felt good to kill. They had to be aware of the living and their powers and strengths. There weren't many, it was true – but they had the sun on their side. Killing the lowlife, the murderer, the whore, the orphan nobody would miss was acceptable – but it was wiser to feed and spare the life of those whose deaths would be noted and cause an uproar in local or even larger human communities. They could never expose themselves – they needed to protect their existence by exercising common sense. But he had also taught him, to never regret killing. He was a being of superior force and immortal life – he could not dwell on the misfortunes of others, and carry those burdens through eternity. It wasn't wise. Right and wrong, were concepts of the living. They were the dead.

Eric stood outside the window of a cottage on the outer rim of the village. He didn't know it then, but it belonged to their chieftain, who currently gathered with his comrades at the local tavern where he drank and enjoyed himself with a young prostitute. His wife was alone inside, and Eric watched her as she cleaned herself with a washcloth, dampening the white, frail fabric of her undergarments.

She greatly reminded him of a favorite lover of his – the goat girl who served at his father's house. Her long brown hair falling over her shoulders and back, the round, smooth features, the supple curves – they could have been sisters. And his mouth watered with the scent of her blood. Something especially sweet about her scent – something he hadn't tasted before.

It had been a couple of nights since he last fed, and his thirst seemed to grow as he watched her arching her neck, to run her fingers through her hair – the large artery in her throat became more prominent and inviting.

Eric slipped inside her room, falling softly on his bare feet inside, standing slowly, his movements careful as he knew he could frighten her. The woman whirled around to face him, gasping and taking a step back. She did not scream, and he was thankful for it – if she had, any kindness he could offer her would have to be forgotten in favor of his own protection.

The woman took another step back, her brown eyes wide with fear, one dainty hand reached up protectively over her bare shoulders. Eric took one step forward and seized her eyes with his. This was still very new to him, but he'd already learned how to draw them in – how to compel them not to fear him. Her eyes fluttered immediately and she sighed, dropping her arms beside her. He immediately felt the scent of her lust and smiled to himself.

To the girl's eyes, her chambers had been broken into by a god. She felt a strange hum inside her head and it confused her sight momentarily. She swallowed, and when her eyes focused again she could see him several steps closer. Her eyes trailed over his bare chest – he was so pale! His long, blonde hair looked matted and wild, there was dirt on his feet – but nothing seemed to affect how beautiful he was to her! His eyes seemed to call to her and she fixed her own upon them as he closed the remaining distance between them. She had to crane her neck up and her breath hitched – he smelled of the wild.

"What are you?" she asked, feeling like she was floating – her hand reached up to touch him.

Eric smiled, and his fangs appeared, causing the girl to gasp again. She watched them, mesmerized. But before she could reach out and touch them, he banded his arms around her frame and pulled her to him, his hand tugging at her hair to angle her neck right for him – he inhaled deeply from the hollow of her neck, feeling her fingers fluttering nervously against his shoulders. She wasn't pushing him away, but her heart beat like she had been running for miles.

He sunk his fangs into her flesh, and his manhood throbbed instantly, demanding he possess her body. He drew deeply from the wound while she moaned softly. She'd become limp in his arms, her own dropping to her sides once more.

The beast in him was awaken and he snarled at her as he pulled his fangs from her throat. Her eyes were misty and there was a soft, satisfied smile curling her lips. He pushed her against the bed and she watched him adoringly. This lovely creature had drained her of all her pains and troubles… what was he?

A soft, infant cry interrupted the night and Eric, already crawling on top of the girl on the bed paused, his eyes lifting, looking for the source of the sound. He moved swiftly, following its direction. Behind a large wooden screen he found it – a basket with a crying baby inside it.

This was it. The sweeter scent he'd detected earlier – it wasn't the woman – he should have known, she didn't taste any different. It was the baby. He'd been about to kill this baby's mother…

He knew he would have killed her, like he did whenever he lost control… He would have lost it tonight, he knew he would have.

Thoughts of his dead baby sister, his dead mother, his dead father… they perturbed him, and Eric stumbled back, his eyes fluttering. He could hear the ragged breathing sounds from the woman on the bed. She was delirious, muttering about gods and miracles, and the scent of her arousal was even stronger.

Eric forced his eyes closed – the noise coming from the basket was unsettling to him. His body was taut and tense, his fangs ached, demanding he sink them into the deliciously smelling creature in front of him.

_No…_

He fled.

He ran, he ran until he couldn't smell them anymore, or hear them, or sense them near him. He fled into the forest and put as much distance between himself and the mother and her baby as he could. There was nothing but the forest around him, he'd ran way past the nearest body of water. He sank to his knees in the dirt and bowed forward, his fingernails digging into the ground as he bellowed in anger.

His human memories, which had been comfortably buried somewhere deep in his being had been bled out of him in that tiny cottage. His darkest, most painful truths lashed out at him to the point where he felt he was going to vomit. His baby sister… his sweet, beautiful mother, his father, his king…

"Control your emotions, Eric…" Godric said softly somewhere behind him.

Eric stilled – he was prostrate on the ground – the top of his head touched the dirt as well as the length of his arms. He shuddered as he was compelled to obey his maker, his ears acutely aware of his walking around him.

"We are never at the mercy of them…" Godric continued. "We control them. They do not control us…" his voice was soft, his teachings were loving.

Eric rolled over, until he was sitting, propped with his hands on the dirt behind him, he looked up at his maker, now standing taller over him. He could smell blood and he blinked his eyes – he reached up with the back of his hand and wiped at his cheeks, surprised to see he'd cried blood.

"I went into the cottage after you left…" Godric told him, squatting in front of him. "I compelled the woman to forget you were there and I healed her wounds. Her husband was the chieftain and because I imagine you spared her for her child I wouldn't want to upset you."

Eric blinked at his maker and nodded. Godric reached out slowly and wiped some of his bloody tears with his thumb and smiled at him. "Such a tall man… yet you are such a child…" he pulled his hand back and stared at the rich blood smeared upon his thumb, he stuck it into his mouth and licked it clean – closing his eyes to savor it.

"I am sorry…" Eric dropped his eyes with embarrassment. "I was… overwhelmed."

"That much was clear…" Godric smiled, his fangs retracted. "Was it mercy, Eric? Or something else?"

Eric kept his eyes on the ground. He'd never talked about this with anyone – not even his comrades. But this, this was his maker and he could never hide anything from him. Godric's knowing eyes were waiting, and they smiled softly at him when he returned him his.

"I was reminded of my own family… my human family."

Godric blinked curiously, cocking his head to the side. "When I turned you… you were a lone man. I followed your men for many days – I heard many conversations. Your comrades, many of them spoke of wives, children, brothers and sisters… you my child… you never spoke of anyone."

"They've been dead for ten years…" Eric said. "And I'd buried them there until I could avenge them."

The eyes of his child hardened considerably – greatly picking Godric's interest. He shifted again, leaning his arms on his knees.

"So that is why you fought so ardently."

"Godric?" Eric blinked at him, confused.

"Someone who fights as hard as you do, my child, can only have known a day when you felt like you didn't fight hard enough."

Godric smiled at his progeny's pertubed expression.

"Come…" he stood and stepped back to give him room to move. "We have fed, we must move. And then I want to hear your story, and then perhaps I shall tell you mine."


	2. The Cave

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**The Cave **- 1030AD

Godric watched his feet as they sunk into the white, fluffy sand and he sneered at the sensation. Warm blood still dripped from his distended fangs, and he ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, to lap at what was left of his meal. He lifted his mottled blue eyes to the stars above the pitch-black ocean, using the map in the sky to decide where it was that they had landed this time. Then his eyes dropped to his progeny, several steps ahead of him, with his back to him while he hunkered down, sitting on his calves.

He cocked his head to the side curiously as he watched his child more closely. He seemed focused on whatever it was he was doing. The campfire built by the humans previously occupying this stretch of the beach was dwindling away, without its keepers to stoke its embers. And whatever light still was still there, cast a warm glow against his Viking's pale skin.

The humans were long gone, having fled the camp when the two of them arrived. It had been amusing to watch them scatter, screaming about monsters of legend. Around here, they were called blood drinkers, and Godric had learned they had not been the only of their kind to pass by recently. While scouting the nearby town, they had found no one like them. Perhaps they were hiding, perhaps they had moved. But the humans here still remembered them.

Godric had grown used to keeping a wide berth from the rest of his kind. He'd had to, after he killed his own maker. The others had not been pleased, some had wanted to stake him. So he learned to be alone. He even enjoyed it. Until he found Eric.

"What is so enthralling about the sand?" Godric finally decided to interrupt his progeny's solitude, walking around him, to see what had been keeping him busy.

Eric had been poking in the sand with a small branch and Godric narrowed his eyes and again tilted his head as he saw what he had been drawing. The symbol was familiar to him, but not meaningful. He knew it pertained to some religion in lands he had visited long ago, but, he was certain, he had never taken Eric there.

"Where did you see this?" Godric asked as he squatted down next to his child, who now stared into the drawing in the sand with a preoccupied expression.

"You never told me about the wolves before…" Eric said instead, still staring into the symbol he'd drawn.

"Wolves?" Godric watched his progeny with growing curiosity. "What do you know of wolves, my child? Do you speak of the man-wolves that broke into your father's home?"

He was curious as to why Eric would mention them now. For a hundred years they'd walked the earth together. For a hundred years he had kept his progeny's focus on his learning and he was pleased with his loyalty. What there was between them was so much more than had been between his maker and himself. He loved Eric so much – he had never known he could find joy in another's company until he'd found him. His giant, brave warrior whose men loved him so much, he'd envied them, and he'd killed them, so Eric would be loyal only to him.

His child had transformed into the perfect creature in the past century. He was every bit as powerful and every bit as loyal as Godric knew he could be. Where he could not go, he would, and he would obey him without question. After centuries of solitude, and avoiding others like him, he had found the perfect companion, his representant. And where others would shun him and fear him because of his betrayal of his own maker, they would welcome his child, and admire him for his fierce loyalty and his unflinching character.

He'd turned Eric's anger into cool, calculated intelligence. He'd accepted the time to avenge his family would come when it came and he had obediently remained quiet about his desires until tonight.

Eric nodded with his head over his shoulder. Godric looked behind him, in the direction indicated by his child, narrowing his eyes at the abundant, high vegetation that concealed them here on the beach. His nostrils flared as he tried to catch something in the air. But his nose actually brought his eyes back to his child and he leaned closer, detecting a strangeness about the scent of his son.

"What have you fed on, Eric?"

"I thought it was a man… but it was a wolf…" Eric finally looked at him, his blue eyes inscrutable. "And I did not feed on him," he added with disgust.

He stood, turning half-way to look over at the dark forest behind them, raising his hand towards it's unseen depths. "I happened upon a sleeping naked man in the forest while I was coming for you. But as I approached to investigate, he surprised me… he saw me." He looked at his maker questioningly. "He… smelled me."

Godric nodded. "Wolves have as good a sense of scent as we do. One _would_ detect us. It is very difficult to catch them unaware."

"He… turned into the beast…" Eric described, and his eyes became unfocused again. "He attacked me. I wanted to question him, but he was stronger than I expected. When I could finally stop him, I had broken his spine and he died." He pointed at the symbol in the sand. "He had that mark, burnt upon his skin… on the back of his neck. The flesh there was still oozing and smelling… it had been recent."

Godric watched his child silently. "Is there significance to the mark?"

"The wolf-men that murdered my family carried that same mark."

Godric narrowed his eyes. "And the… wolf-master… is still around, a hundred years later," he nodded. "It is as I suspected… he's no mere man…"

"But he is no wolf either."

"No…" Godric agreed. "If he marks them like property then he sees himself above them."

"Are wolves always so hard to kill?" Eric sneered in displeasure.

"No…" Godric smirked. "You told me yourself your father and you managed to kill a couple of them the night it happened… If humans can kill them…" his eyes dropped as he considered the new information his child had given him. "Yet…your wolf tonight was hard to kill."

"Very."

"What did you do to the corpse?"

"I buried him."

"Take me to him."

Godric followed his progeny through the forest. The smell of the salted ocean mingled with that of wet dirt and wild animals. It wasn't long before they approached a damp cave, and Eric pointed to a mound of dirt at its feet. But when they squatted in front of the stirred earth, the hole inside was empty.

"Gone!" Eric growled in frustration as he dropped into the tomb he'd dug himself.

Godric sniffed their surroundings – his child was too busy in his fury, but he was quickly able to understand what'd happened.

"Another wolf was here…" he said, still sniffing the air. "Female…" he looked down at Eric who now hunkered down in the whole and touched the soil. "I know why your wolf was so strong now, my child…"

"Why?" Eric asked him.

Godric jumped down into the hole next to Eric and pawed at the soil until he found what he was looking for. He grabbed a bit of the dirt, and when he raised the palm of his hand, they could see in the pale moonlight, the specks of dirt, wet, with blood.

"Our blood…"

Eric frowned as he sniffed at the dirt in his maker's palm. "That isn't ours…"

"No… but it is blood of our kind. Can't you recognize it?" he smiled indulgently. "I should allow you to spend more time with others."

He had been too selfish, too greedy, he'd kept his child with him at all times. While Eric was his eyes, and ears, and mouth when it became a necessity to deal with others like them, he had clearly not allowed that to happen often enough. That would have to change. Perhaps, it was time he started going into their midst again.

Especially if now they were to have to deal with _this_ sort of thing now.

"This… is… desecration…" Godric said with disgust as he allowed the wet dirt to slip through his fingers. "We do not allow our blood to touch the lips of the undeserving…"

Eric was frowning in thought. "Could it be… one of us?"

"No!" Godric spat with certainty. No. They would never share their blood with lesser beings – _especially_ the wolf-men. "Our blood is sacred, Eric. You know this."

"Then these wolves are hunting _us_…" Eric deduced, his anger returning, his fangs distending.

"And another came for the one you killed… there must be more of them around. Wolves organize in packs…" Godric's eyes started scouring the forest around them. "They shouldn't be too far."

"We have to find them…" Eric said as he leapt out of the grave.

"Eric…"

His progeny stopped, recognizing the halting command in his voice. He turned around to find Godric's hardened eyes and, expelling air through his nose, Eric nodded obediently.

"Too eager…" Godric shook his head. "Control yourself, my son. I do not wish to lose you to this… _wolf-master_…" he sneered. "It will be dawn soon. We'll go to ground. We will chase them tomorrow."

"Yes Godric…" Eric's expression and voice softened.

Godric smiled. "Go and erase our traces from that campfire… we don't want to be chased ourselves."

Eric nodded obediently and whirled around, moving away at inhuman speed, to carry out his maker's orders.

Godric, leapt out of the abandoned grave gracefully, moving to stand and then turn around to face the blackness of the cave mouth behind him. He narrowed his blue eyes as he sensed the tiniest of the vibrations. He stared at his bare feet on the dirt and waited. Nothing but the wind at his ears. But after another moment, he felt it again – against his feet. There was something in the cave, something alive, and it was quite restless.

Godric moved too fast to be seen, launching himself into the deep cave, following the vibrations he'd felt on the ground. As he ran through the darkened space, the familiar scent of the wolf reached his nostrils. His fangs distended again and he let out a growl as his thirst for killing, and rending increased. Wolves were not worthy of their blood. _This one_ would learn it tonight.

A preternatural growl erupted from the depths of the cave and with a speed that was not usual for the beast, the wolf surged through the air, tackling him in mid air.

Godric hissed, his fangs snapping towards any part of the beast he could reach as both hurtled through the air before they hit a wall to their left. With his feet, Godric threw the beast off of him, and watched, with his eyes accustomed to the dark, as the large, graying wolf hit against the cave wall opposite to him, whining and yipping before it quickly rolled back onto its four paws and turned to face him.

The wolf's strength and speed was not his own, and it angered Godric even more. That they dared break the skin of one of them and dared drink of their blood was unacceptable!

He wrapped one hand around the wolf's thick, furry neck as it launched itself against him, easily stopping his advances this time. He was over a thousand years old, and whatever blood this beast had drank, had been quite ancient also, because it was not easy for Godric to stop him. But the wolf, although an animal, with instincts and plenty of its own strength, couldn't bend their powers the way the dead could, and Godric eventually tackled the animal to the ground, choking its throat too tightly, the beast was forced to shift back into human form and he found himself facing a ruddy skinned, naked young boy with wild brown eyes, who now sputtered at him and grabbed at his wrist with human hands.

_"Who gave you permission to desecrate the blood, dog?"_ Godric asked him in the language of the locals.

"_Take your hands off me, you demon!"_ the choking boy spat at him.

Godric sneered at him, his fangs throbbed, ready to sink into his flesh, ready to rend, and maul and kill. But he needed the answer first.

_"Who is your leader? Who is the one who is teaching you how to hunt us? How to drink from us? Where is he?"_

_"I don't know!"_ the boy sputtered as he started clawing his arm with his human fingernails. _"Let me go! I don't know anything!"_

Godric narrowed his eyes. "_You lie!"_

"_I don't! I swear!"_

Remembering the symbol Eric had drawn in the sand, Godric yanked at the boy's head so he could see the side of his neck. There was no mark – he had not been branded yet.

_"Ah, so you're only an initiate…_" Godric seethed. _"No wonder you're so terrible at this…"_

_"I won't drink the blood anymore, I swear. Let me go!"_

_"Tell me what you know!"_ he demanded.

_"All I know… is that they call him the Raven! I swear! Let me go!"_

Before he could question him further, Godric sensed a third presence in the cave, and he smelled her. The female wolf – he could also smell fire. Godric stood quickly, pivoting around, in time to see in the dark, the shape of a naked, feral-looking woman, hurling a torch at him.

_"Die demon!"_

Godric jumped away from the torch and watched as it landed somewhere behind him, its flames couldn't hurt the stone floor. From his right, the wolf boy shifted again before launching himself against him. Godric fell to the ground on his back, a hand immediately latching once again onto the wolf's neck. But all of the wolf's fury was for naught, the female was suddenly calling to him, hissing that _there was another_.

One moment, Godric had a massive and angry wolf on top of him. The next, they were both gone. He rolled onto his hands and feet and stared at ahead, catching a glimpse of their departing furry bodies.

"Eric…" he muttered into the dark.

Eric had just landed outside the cave when he came out. His progeny looked at him perplexed, his eyes trailing over him, finding his already withering garments in worse state. His nostrils flared.

"Where are they?" he asked, having smelled the wolves.

"They ran…" Godric said, now feeling frustrated himself. "I can feel the pull of the sun already…" he slouched his shoulders as he looked at the sky over the tops of the trees. "We have to go to ground." When Eric looked restless, Godric seized his eyes in his. "I have learned _something_ tonight. We will talk tomorrow at sunset."

He had learned perhaps a name. He had certainly learned the blood the wolves drank was ancient – he wondered perhaps, if Eric had been right, and the wolf-master really was one of them. But it couldn't be – it couldn't be – the blood was sacred.


	3. The Storm

**A/N: Historically this is early Middle Ages, geographically somewhere in a fictional part of Holland. Historical accuracy _always_ debatable. Eric and Godric belong to their creators Charlaine Harris and paid-fanfictioners at HBO. Everyone else in this belongs to me.**

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**The Storm **- 1190 A.D.

Sunset was still one hour away and in the keep the bell tolled, alerting all serfs of the time of the Mass. The chaplain led the procession into the Lord's manor, followed closely by his pupil, the youngest son of the house. From the North Sea heavy, dark clouds amassed, announcing what could be a dreadful night.

At the drawbridge, the guards exchanged uneasy glances in between the pairs and clusters of people who walked past them into the castle. Storms could have severe consequences for the people of this county. Over the years there had been many changes to the lay of the land - territory dispute was not always a battle between lords, but a battle against nature itself.

Inside the chapel the people were assembled and the chaplain cast his eyes upon the gallery, from where the Lord and Lady congregated, along with their daughter. The eldest son did not presently reside in his Lord father's lands – he currently enjoyed the prestige and favor of the Count himself and enjoyed a season in his castle. It was said he would be wed to one of the Count's daughters soon. His soul was well accounted for.

Yet, the chaplain knew there were two absent souls. They were always absent, at every Mass, every day, since the night of their arrival. They were allowed to be absent by Lord Gerrit himself – he did not allow questioning. He knew even now they were secured in the dungeons, where they spent their days, heavily guarded by men appointed by Lady Mauran. The Lord and the Lady protected them – even the one with the pagan marks on his skin – _he has been converted_, they promised. But the chaplain knew of no converts who dared miss the Mass.

The chaplain turned his eyes away from Lady Mauran, and started reading from the Holy scripture, as heads bowed and voices hushed.

Below the ground, Godric had already risen, his eyes could see in the darkness clearly, and he walked along the damp stone walls, his fingers brushing against its moldy surface, while his ears captured the heartbeats of the two guards outside. His ears also captured the distant, monotonous voice of the chaplain, reading his Roman rituals.

He could feel the sun fading, he could also smell the coming storm – the smell of salted water was heavy about the air, which travelled easily through the tunnels and shafts that formed the castle's skeleton. It could make travelling difficult.

"You are brooding, Godric." Eric's tone was jeering, but also loving.

Godric smiled at his child in the dark, watching over his shoulder as he gracefully rose from the bed of straws. He shrugged on a mantle over his nude form and padded over to stand next to his maker by the heavy, fortified wooden door.

His child smelled mostly of sex lately – for Eric, dealing with the tedious existence they were sometimes subjected to was easily cured through carnal activities. And _tedious_ was really all this was for him. They weren't guests in this house out of their mutual affection for the Lord and Lady of the Dahl. They were here for _him_ – and he smiled affectionately at his progeny, always so loyal, to endure a dull life for his maker when all he loved about their existence was outside of these walls.

For Godric, their prolonged stay wasn't simply tedious. It was more complex than that. It was grounded in more personal matters. They were not supposed to have become personal, but they had.

Nearly a year ago, while looking to feed, he'd happened upon a small carriage stranded in the forest during a flood. It would have been so easy to feed on the small human party, and he could even take their horses, so he and Eric could travel south again. But it had not happened as planned.

After he'd overpowered and fed on the carriage rider and his companion, he'd burst into the carriage, knowing what it held inside would taste so much sweeter. But when he stepped into the carriage he was taken aback by a young girl's tears. She was dressed as a nun, with her head covered, and trembling hands tightly gripping an animal skin sack – a pungent smell of different herbs emanated from it.

"Please sir, my mother is very sick" the girl had pleaded with him in the language of the locals.

And that was how he was brought to the Dahl, under rule of Gerrit, vassal to the Count of the lower lands – where Lady Mauran already smelled of death. After compelling his way into the castle, accompanied by the tremulous but pious daughter, and a curious Eric, he'd fed the fading, mortal woman his blood.

She not only escaped certain death, but became rejuvenated, to the delight of her husband and children. Mauran and Gerrit were so grateful to Godric, they made him and Eric their guests, they did not care what they were – their supernatural blood was a miracle, and it had saved the lady of the house.

For a while, it was nice to have shelter in a proper home, and they'd stayed, they compelled the humans to make sure they would never harm them in their sleep – but Lady Mauran was so devoted to Godric that there was no need to influence her mind, and, with time, Gerrit was just as trustworthy.

They did not understand their nature, but they did not seem afraid of them either. Their unusual diet of blood, while frightening to the servants, was soon a mere eccentricity for the masters, who volunteered several of their serfs to feed their illustrious guests.

This was a dangerous arrangement in many ways, Godric was aware, but the family had done its best to protect them and Mauran was so fond of them, and so welcoming, that Lord Gerrit was willing to make whatever adjustments were needed.

The young girl who'd brought Godric there, the Lord and Lady's second child, returned to the convent shortly after. Godric had never even gotten to taste her sweet blood, but he did not compel her before she left – she had asked him not to – saying she didn't want to forget about him and the good he had done. Perhaps foolishly, Godric did as she asked, and did not make her forget.

Months had passed – and the longer they stayed, the more complicated it became to leave. Because they couldn't possibly leave so many traces behind, so many humans aware of what they were, of what they could do. Humans who, once they'd turned their backs would not see themselves obliged to keep their mouths shut. In these circumstances legends were born – and they did not want to be the beginning of yet another account of their undesirable existence.

As Godric and Eric started to speak of leaving, Mauran requested a private conversation with him, one night after he'd fed. She came to him, in the living quarters that once had belonged to her eldest son, and she kneeled in front of him and begged him to make her like him. Godric refused, saying she didn't know what she had asked him. That same night he told Lord Gerrit they would be leaving in the summer.

And the time was near, and here Godric stood uneasy, having been approached by Mauran again the night before. Why her request had moved him, he did not know. He had never touched Mauran, or fed from her - but he knew his blood had influenced her, he knew she was enamored of him because of it. He didn't want her for a child, as fond of her as he'd grown. It took him a thousand years to take on a child, it wasn't something he'd done lightly. Eric was everything to him, his greatest achievement – the perfect creature, a companion in death and in the darkness. Mauran was infatuated with him, and the power in his blood, and he was fond of her, but the idea of making her like him, of bringing her into his family, felt wrong to him.

"You would never allow me to give my blood to a human," Eric had said in their first conversation after Godric had saved Mauran. "You told me our blood is sacred. Yet you save a human who means nothing to us?"

"This has granted us shelter," Godric had argued. "And a long stay. How long has it been we had such luxury, child?"

Eric had watched him silently. "You were merciful," he noted. "You've also told me mercy can be dangerous."

Godric would not have admitted that to his progeny that night, but he knew now it had been true. Perhaps, his nearly 300 years in Eric's company had reminded him what compassion, love and kindness were like. As they looked to interact more with others, humans, or their own kind, humans had been their preferred company, as nests could be so uninteresting. And he had become soft – perhaps too soft.

"Eric…" Godric said after a long, quiet moment, while they waited for the time to leave the safety of the dungeon. "When we leave we travel east – and we do not stop for anything other than feeding."

Eric watched him curiously for a moment before he nodded obediently. "Yes, father. But when do we leave?"

"Tomorrow."

Eric nodded quietly, looking ahead of them as they heard the clicking of the several latches to the door. The guards said nothing to them as they opened the door – they simply walked away hurriedly.

At the bottom of the stairs stood Mauran, holding a torch. She smiled at them before two young girls walked past her, heads bowed. They stopped before them and bared their necks to them. So it had been every night for the several months they'd taken shelter in the Dahl.

Upstairs the manor was empty again, and the family was reunited in the great hall, the serfs brought them food and kept bringing wood for the hearth. When Godric entered through the side door, his eyes immediately met the chaplain's dark, dull eyes.

Vogel was his name, and he followed his progression into the room closely, his lips pressed into a thin line. Godric stared back at him coldly, before his eyes dropped to his pupil, right beside him. Dedrick of Dahl, and youngest son of Gerrit and Mauran, had been taken into apprenticeship mere months before they arrived to the castle, and it didn't take long for him to realize what had been happening to the innocent boy.

Having been abused for many years as a human boy by his own Maker, Godric had been deeply revolted. His Maker's treatment of him as a human slave, and even later, as his progeny, were what drove him to break the most sacred law. He still relished the memory of giving his master the true death – of watching the blood seep out of him until there was nothing _but_ the blood.

He'd wanted to give Vogel the same end since the night he'd known the truth. To break the man's bones and watch him writhe and choke in his own blood. He wouldn't drink from him, his blood was vile – but he'd take great pleasure in his death.

The boy would then be free. Perhaps, that would be his parting gift to Mauran, freeing her son from the chaplain.

"Come, my friends!" Gerrit called them amiably. "Come sit with us!"

"My Lord Gerrit, if I may…" the chaplain called over the several voices chatting in the hall. "If it is true a great storm is coming, it would be wise perhaps to send for the men in the garrison and assemble all the people before it's too late."

"Is it going to be so bad, Father Vogel?" Mauran asked uneasily.

"I'm afraid so, my Lady," Vogel said regretfully. "There could be catastrophic consequences…"

A serf was called to take word to the garrison, and in the next hour every inhabitant of the Keep was brought inside the hall and down into the storeroom, where there was plenty of space. In the midst of the preparations for the storm, Godric walked up to Lord Gerrit, who'd taken his chair upon the dais to oversee his people's preparations for the night, while his Lady, and youngest daughter sat with him.

"My good friend!" Gerrit hailed him when he arrived. "You are in for an exciting night, I fear. We haven't had a bad storm in over two years in this region."

"I have heard many stories of floods. But you forget it was because of a flood I met your daughter Evelien."

"That storm was a blessing," Lady Mauran smiled.

Lord Gerrit smiled in agreement, looking fondly at his lady, before turning his eyes back to his illustrious guest. "If there is anything you need for accommodations, my friend Godric. All you have to do is ask."

"I have actually come to make an announcement," Godric said as Eric flanked him silently.

"An announcement?" Lord Gerrit asked curiously while Mauran's smile faded into a frown.

"Eric and I leave the Dahl tomorrow."

"But the storm!" Lady Mauran muttered. "My Lord you must not allow them to leave! There could be great danger…"

"My dear…" Lord Gerrit raised his hand to silence her before looking back at Godric. "So suddenly? There are still a few weeks before the summer!"

"Yes, I know, my Lord. And your kindness and hospitality will never be forgotten. But we have stayed too long." Godric was aware of Lady Mauran's pleading eyes, begging to meet with his, but he kept addressing her husband. "Some arrangements will be needed…" and as he said this, he pushed his will into the Lord's mind – his eyes growing instantly glazed over, his hand dropping to the arm of his chair, his head nodding.

Heavy knocking at the gatehouse drew the attention of its guards, and Colonel Vromme signaled at them to open them while two more guards flanked him.

Outside, while the clouds threatened to burst with each strike of lightning in the horizon, two figures stood outside a battered carriage. Up front, a tall and very pale man in dark clothes, black hair and grey eyes met him with a nod. Behind the man stood what appeared to be a woman, wearing a mantle and a hood over her head.

"Who are you?" Colonel Vromme demanded. "What is your allegiance?"

"I am Dragomir, coming from the Kingdom of Germany, my allegiance is to the Holy Roman Emperor. I seek shelter from the storm," his voice was melodic and pleasant.

"What about her?" Vromme nodded at the woman behind him.

"This my… sister… Olga."

"Where were you headed before the storm?"

"To the Count's service!" the man said self-importantly, extending a sealed letter with the Count's official seal.

When the strangers were brought before the Lord of the Dahl, Godric and Eric exchanged a long, meaningful look, as they sat to the side, watching. The tall, male stranger immediately sought their eyes and presented them with an equally meaningful smile.

"Dragomir and Olga of Germany, is it?" Lord Gerrit asked needlessly as he ran his eyes over the official letter. "What a misfortune to be caught here in this weather."

"We are very lucky to have come to your door!" the one named Dragomir spoke in an indistinct accent.

"Friends of the Count are welcome here!" Lord Gerrit returned the letter to the Colonel, who in turn returned it to the stranger. "We will see what we can do about accommodations for you both." He signaled for his wife who in turn stood, smiling at the guests before leaving to fetch the servants.

Godric and Eric watched everything with great interest, and listened while the stranger continued to talk about his travels and his service to the Count. Not once did he try to compel the Count in their presence. The woman with him would cast curious glances over at them. They were offered food and they watched as they accepted it politely, only to never touch any of it.

"_What do you think they want?"_ Eric asked his maker once they were relatively alone at the other side of the hall, where they pretended to be studying some religious figurines outside the chapel.

"_They have come here for us."_ Godric said.

"_That is what I was thinking. How did they know?"_

"It was the girl…"

They turned to see the female of the pair approaching them, and though she'd spoken in her own language, it was clear she had understood them.

"The girl?" Godric asked her.

"Evelien, was her name…?" the woman, Olga seemed to ask off handedly. "She knew what we were…" she smiled. "She was not surprised, and she begged us mercy."

Godric and Eric exchanged a brief look.

"Did you kill her?" Godric asked calmly.

"She was very sweet…" Olga said with a glint in her eye. "It seemed _wrong_ to make her forget… I suppose you understand what I mean… Godric… is it?" her smile turned serpentine. "It seemed like it would undo all your work to wipe from her memory all of her fond thoughts of you…"

"She told you about us," Godric deduced.

Olga thought for a moment before answering, casting a brief look at her companion, who was now sitting next to Lord Gerrit, the both of them seemed to be immersed in an amiable conversation.

"In her defense…" Olga started. "She didn't mean to!" she added with a small shrug of her shoulder. "We had to compel her to… once she realized we were not as kind as you were."

"And now you are here…" Godric did not let her words affect him. He felt sorry for Evelien, sorry to depths he didn't comprehend, but he knew he couldn't dwell on it. "Why?"

"Well it isn't always we hear of a nest comfortably settled among humans!" Olga looked between them curiously. "Even such a small nest…" she eyed Eric, her eyes glinting. "Is he yours?"

"Yes."

"What an eye you have, Godric…" she admired, and suddenly her fangs were out. "Although it's a shame what you did to _your_ own Maker."

Godric felt Eric tensing behind him, and he remained as passive as he could, so his child would follow his lead, and not let this get out of hand. So they knew who they were, probably had known their names before they had run into Evelien, and upon hearing about them, were either genuinely curious about what arrangement they had with these humans, or were determined to exact some sort of justice, as their kind was sometimes compelled to do.

"And who is the maker here? You, or Dragomir?" Godric asked calmly.

"Neither," Olga smiled. "We were both released by our makers long ago. We were part of a large nest."

"And what happened to your large nest?" Eric spoke for the first time since they were interrupted.

Another shrug of her shoulders. "We had to disband when the humans started getting too close… we had killed too many of them."

And that was the danger of nesting among humans. Standing there, Godric's resolve to leave tomorrow was bolstered. It had already cost Evelien of Dahl her life – and for some reason, he felt responsible, and he didn't like it.

"Well that is why my progeny and I plan to leave soon. We try never to stay too long in the same place."

"Oh, what a shame!" Olga pouted theatrically. "I thought we could all have enjoy this together!"

Godric looked over to the dais once again, and, this time, it was quite clear Lord Gerrit was under Dragomir's influence. A loud, roaring sound reverberated through the castle's walls, and a strong gust of wind came between the shafts and crevasses in its structures. The storm had arrived, and soldiers rushed to secure the door while the people huddled closer and closer to each other in the hall.

"My dear…" Lady Mauran surged next to Olga. "We have arranged appropriate quarters for you, if you'll follow me."

"Thank you, my lady!" Olga said sweetly before she obeyed, not sparing Godric and Eric another glance.

"Do they plan to kill us?" Eric wondered as she moved away.

"I don't think so. I think they're curious…" Godric watched Dragomir as he too was ushered to follow a couple of serfs. "I think they planned to join our nest."

"And do we leave tomorrow?" Eric asked dubiously. "Leaving the fates of these people in their hands? They were part of a large nest that caused so much problems with the locals they had to disband. They're probably reckless… intentionally reckless."

"I agree..." Godric said thoughtfully. "Perhaps we take them with us," he looked at his son over his shoulder. "Lure them away with us, as part of our nest."

"And then what?" Eric looked uncertain.

"And then we dispose of them… they're not too old for me, I can tell."

Eric nodded. "The male has compelled Gerrit already. We need to be careful."

"We always are..." Godric said confidently.

The truth was he could make no such claim tonight. He fought to keep his calm façade, his indifference. The truth was he had been extremely careless. He had allowed Evelien to return to the convent knowing who he was, remembering everything she had witnessed, remembering his name and Eric's name, and that had been extremely foolish.

And the consequences of his foolish actions were culminating with the storm tonight. The tempest lasted for hours, but the people inside the castle were safe, and the serfs all fell asleep quickly, because they had a long day ahead of them. He watched the chaplain tug his apprentice to his feet and lead the way to their separate quarters and his impulse to finish the clergy nearly overtook him. But he couldn't be any more careless tonight.

He retreated into the chambers assigned to him and Eric in the evening, where sometimes they had their little parties with their willful donors. But it was empty tonight – his progeny had bigger concerns than distracting himself and Godric paced alone with his thoughts until a knock at the door distracted him. He knew it would be Mauran before he opened it – he knew her scent, her heartbeat, and he knew her every move due to his giving her his blood.

"My lady…" he stepped aside for her.

"These two newcomers… they're like you…" Mauran said apprehensively.

"Yes, they are…" Godric watched her carefully. "Have they requested blood?"

"They are feeding now. Eric is with them."

Godric nodded. Eric had meant to watch them as closely as possible, to befriend them, he knew Olga had been very interested in him, and he would use it to his advantage.

"And you and Eric are leaving with them?" Mauran asked

Godric thought for a moment of what to say to her. She had lost a daughter, and perhaps it was best she didn't hear it now.

"Yes. Our kind travels in nests. They have come to join us so we can go somewhere safer."

"It is safe here!" Mauran insisted. "Stay longer, Godric!"

"Mauran my staying longer will not make me change my mind…" Godric said kindly.

Her eyes filled with tears and she sat by him. "Why do you deny me? You know I want to be with you."

"It is my blood you've taken that makes you feel this way, Mauran. It will pass. You love your children – you don't want to leave them."

Mauran blinked her tears away and looked confused. "Why would I have to leave them?"

"Because you wouldn't be the same, and you would be dangerous to them."

"_You_ are not dangerous…"

"Yes, I am, Mauran…" Godric covered her warm human hand with his cold dead one. "I have made a mistake staying so long…" when she began to protest he seized her eyes with his and he immediately felt the shift of her will through his connection with her. "You will no longer ask me to turn you. You will not desire to be turned. You enjoy your life, you enjoy your family, and you will let us go tomorrow, without protest…"

Mauran nodded passively, with her eyes glazed over. Godric smiled at her, and reached out to touch her face with the back of his hand. It had been strange to share something of his with a mere mortal, and it had been foolish, but it didn't stop it from being an experience he somehow relished, and now mourned.

"Now go…" he told her.

Mauran stood obediently, and turned, not saying anything else as she left, closing the door behind her. A moment later the door opened and there in the threshold stood Dragomir, with a fanged smile.

"So courteous, Godric. So unlike the stories of you I have heard…."

Godric eyed him standing there, and waved him in. "You have fed… come inside."

"I wonder perhaps, if becoming a Maker has changed you…" Dragomir sat next to him comfortably.

"What have you heard about me?" Godric asked with feigned curiosity.

"That you're a feral child, running in the wild, feeding off of impure animals, mating with them, and spurning your own kind."

Godric laughed heartily. "While I do enjoy the wild and solitude I promise you I have never fed on animals… nor mated with them."

"That is a relief…" Dragomir smiled.

"Eric and I planned to travel East tomorrow. You and your companion are welcome to join us."

"But we just arrived here! Why leave? You have such a… promising arrangement."

"We have been here too long. You know what happens when you stay too long…. Your friend told us what happened to your nest."

"Ah yes, very sad…" Dragomir sighed unnecessarily. "Perhaps, tomorrow you'll change your mind. You know the floods will have left many stranded… you know what a banquet that is going to be. Stay longer, and Olga and I will follow you."

"Perhaps tomorrow we talk again about this," Godric suggest. "I am sure I can convince you it is a better choice to go East."

"Perhaps..." Dragomir smiled standing up.

The dawn came and Eric and Godric were led to their cell. There was no sign of Olga or Dragomir. Inside the castle, it could be relatively safe, even above ground, but they had never taken risks of being in the open. Godric hoped, perhaps in their foolishness, those two would burn, lost in some room when someone opened a door.

"Olga will come with us," Eric said confidently.

"It is a shame Dragomir is immune to your charms, my son," Godric said as both stared at the stone ceiling.

"We make him come with us…" Eric suggested.

"It could get bloody…"

"It will get bloody regardless… you know these types… they get caught because they're reckless, they enjoy chaos."

Just as she sun disappeared on the next day, Godric was awoken by a feeling he had never experienced before. It took him a moment to understand. It was Mauran he'd felt. She had felt different ever since he had compelled her mind. There was a sharp feeling somewhere in him, like pain, but not quite, and fear, and then exhilaration, and then he couldn't feel her anymore. He rose with speed and burst through the heavy cell door and rushed to where he'd last felt her, in the depths of the dungeon, beneath even the level he'd stayed. In a large tunnel where dirt was beneath his feet he saw a small area illuminated by a torch – an orange glow fell upon three figures at the end of the tunnel. Olga stood watching over the pale, unconscious form of Mauran of Dahl, while Dragomir dug a hole with his bare hands.

"What have you done?" he asked, unable to keep his emotions at bay.

Dragomir looked up from his work with a sneer. "I heard her begging you to make her like us! I heard her crying her tears over it… If she'd wanted it so much? Why not give it to her?"

"You are-a-fool!" Godric seethed as he approached them. "She's a noblewoman! Her son will be wed to the Count's daughter! You cannot erase her from History!"

"Everyone will say she died of a terrible disease!" Dragomir said unconcerned.

"Godric…"

He whipped his head to find Eric standing in the tunnel behind him, his eyes rolling up to the ground above them. Godric strained his ears and he soon understood what had Eric concerned. There were at least twelve men coming down the stairs, which included Lord Gerrit. Their guards would have run when he broke through the door, so they could alert him.

"Where is she?" they heard his voice echoing. "Where is she?"

"Oh here comes the cavalry!" Olga's distended fangs glistened. "I cannot wait…"

Godric glanced at his progeny and within a heart beat he'd flown across the tunnel and beheaded Olga, whose remains quickly started dissolving into the dirt. Dragomir growled, ready to pounce Eric, when Godric surged in a blur and sent him flat on his back in the grave he'd dug out himself, fangs out, easily restraining the much younger creature.

"The only reason you live is you have made a child for yourself and I would never leave an orphan among us!" Godric spat at him. "But you dare speak or move and I end you right here!"

Without waiting for a reply, Godric leapt out of the grave and back onto the dirt next to Eric who was currently shielding Mauran's form from Lord Gerrit and his significant entourage of spear and sword wielding men.

"Where is my wife?" Lord Gerrit asked in a tremulous voice. "Where is she? She has disappeared and the guards said you had broken the cell door! What have you done to her?"

Godric took a step forward, his eyes drawing in the Lord's fearful ones. "You willl tell your guards to go upstairs now, Lord Gerrit."

Several of the men grew agitated with that statement, and Eric eyed them carefully. They couldn't really kill them, unless they pierced them with the wooden part of the spear, but they had to be careful.

"Men, in position, back in the great hall," Lord Gerrit said obediently, his eyes glazing over.

"My lord…" spoke one of the man.

"Now!" Godric flashed his fangs.

Some of the men were faster than others, but eventually all of them left.

"Eric… you will go upstairs… and compel each and every one of those men you are able to, otherwise, end them."

"Yes, Godric."

In another heartbeat, Eric was gone, and Godric was alone with the man whose life he'd saved and now destroyed. He couldn't explain why he felt responsible.

"Lord Gerrit your wife disappeared in the night of the storm. You will search her everywhere for days, in the flooded areas. You will not find her, you will mourn her. This is what you know. This is what you'll tell your people…"

Dragomir listened to everything quietly, and when Godric was done, he appeared at the edge of the grave, watching him severely.

"You leave now. You'll have to find somewhere safe to bury the both of you. She cannot rise in her own house."

"But the storm… the floods…"

"You cannot stay!" Godric glowered at him. "You will not ruin this any more than you already have… or I'll end you. Take her somewhere safe and bury her with you. Be a good maker to her, lest her find the will to kill you someday…" he sneered. "I guarantee it can happen…" Dragomir nodded uncertainly. "Go… and don't let anyone see you… speed through everything and everyone until it's safe! Leave through the terrace. Go!"

He only felt a burst of wind as he left and as Godric dropped his eyes to the place where Mauran had been resting and he closed his eyes, and again, mourned her.

Godric quickly joined Eric, making sure the guards' memories had been taken care of. Some had to be killed an there were several splintered spear-lances scattered at his progeny's feet.

"What do we do now, Godric?"

"We can't afford to wait any longer, Eric. The storm and the floods will account for many of the missing. We need to leave, now."

"What of Dragomir and Mauran?"

"He's taken her away, to bury her somewhere safe so she can turn."

"I'm sorry Godric… I know you were fond of her."

Godric shook his head regretfully. "And that was a mistake. Let this be a lesson to both of us, Eric. I made decisions based on human morals and notions of right and wrong, and I condemned all of us. We live now only by our rules." Eric nodded obediently. "Convince as many of them as you can of our peaceful departure… and then find me. Bring the chaplain with you… alive, but leave the boy unharmed. Lie to him – tell him the chaplain too died in the flood, heroically trying to help poor stragglers lost in the storm."

"Yes, Godric."

Godric left the castle at the Dahl immediately, leaving his progeny to take care of the rest. He tracked and found the place where Dragomir had buried himself and he sat by the grave and waited. Several hours later Eric landed next to him, with a panic-stricken chaplain Vogel.

"Unhand me you demon! You cannot do this! I am a servant of…"

Godric's first move was to break the chaplain's jaw. He fell to the ground in pain, his eyes wide as he scurried away from them, hitting a tree trunk behind him.

"Tie him up," Godric told Eric.

The man scrambled around, trying to get to his feet so he could run but Eric easily restrained him and tied him to that three firmly.

"He should survive the next three days, provided there are no more storms… and Dragomir chose a high enough area that it shouldn't be hit by a flood…" Godric said calmly as he studied their surroundings. "If he's alive when she rises…she'll make her first meal out of him. She won't know just how beautiful it is… that she gets to kill her son's molester…" Vogel's eyes widened even further and he made a series of unintelligible sounds. He would eventually try to speak, but it would hurt too much to scream for help. "Good bye… Father Vogel."

Part of him would have enjoyed staying, and watching for the moment when Mauran rose, thirsty, and ready for her first meal.

He couldn't know whether Mauran would be happy being hat she had become – if she'd ever truly wanted to be like him, or if she had just been enamored of him. But that was out of his hands now. And he and Eric had to travel far, where the rumors, if there were any, couldn't reach their ears.

He couldn't quite reconcile his feelings of responsibility for that human family. He had never gotten so close. And he never would again – the price was too high – and perhaps he'd been alone too long to remember the risk, and his love of Eric's company made him careless like a newborn. That would change. And so they travelled all night, and the night after – it would be a while before they found a new perch again.


End file.
